


The richness of memory

by ashcat



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 11:59:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1549721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashcat/pseuds/ashcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not all of Oliver's memories from his time on the island were bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The richness of memory

**Author's Note:**

> Written for daria234 and she graciously beta'd it as well because she's an awesome friend like that! :)

Oliver groaned. He hadn’t been on the island long enough to learn to be silent in all things, even sex. They’d let him be lax about it, with Fyer’s men long gone. Oliver needed to move, to rock back on each thrust, but thick strong fingers dug into his hip, holding him as if caught in a vice.

They would leave bruises; they always did. They’d add to the collection he already had from those same hands, given in mock battles, training.

“Tell me how it feels,” Shado said, voice rough as she stared into Oliver’s heavy-lidded eyes. Her nails bit into Oliver’s nipples, even as she leaned forward to nip at his lower lip.

“Good,” Oliver groaned again as Slade shoved in, so fucking deep it felt like he should have been able to _taste_ cock in his throat. “D-deep, it burns, stretched,” he gasped,”fucking wide open….”

Shado rewarded Oliver’s babbling description with small bites and kisses along his throat, sucking that spot right by his collarbone that for some reason seemed to drive the kid wild.

“Fuck, do that again,” Slade grunted in counterpoint as Oliver tightened around him in response to Shado’s teasing.

The bites were harder this time, Shado sucking a hickey right on the spot as Oliver squirmed a little between them. It amazed both Shado and Slade that Oliver could _enjoy_ being kissed and bitten on his throat. Neither of them could tolerate being touched there -- their bodies would perceive it as attack before they even had a moment to think.

Oliver cried out at that, then whimpered, cock so hard it was aching all through his balls, throbbing in time with Slade’s now brutal thrusts. “Please, please, please,” he begged without thought.

“Soon,” Shado promised, leaning in to kiss him roughly and possessively, her fingers slipping down from his nipple to stroke Oliver’s cock. The groan from Slade let her know that both of them were close, that it wouldn’t take more than a few strokes for Oliver to come, and that would have Slade following on his heels.

Shado worked Oliver’s cock fast, calluses on her fingers and palm catching on the delicate skin of his cock, a mix of pleasure and pain as she kept kissing him through it. She didn’t break the kiss, waited for him to run out of air and have to break it.

When Oliver finally threw his head back, he bellowed and came, body clenching tight around Slade, the pain of his thrusts only prolonging Oliver’s pleasure. He gasped for air and opened his eyes.

He’s… not on the island. It’s the first thought he has when he wakes. It’s cool in the room, the air dry. Nothing like the oppressive humid heat of that long ago night. He’s not alone, though, and he’s not sure how he feels about it in this moment.

When he feels come drying along his belly, pooling on the sheets, it’s with a mix of leftover lust, stinging grief, and bright, hot shame. Tears come to his eyes. He thankfully has his back to Sara.

She doesn’t touch him, and he’s grateful. He might fly apart if he has another’s hands on him right now.

“Nightmare?” she asks quietly. It’s something they both have frequently enough that it’s not much of a question.

Oliver answers with a noncommittal grunt, and curls up, feeling shame turn his stomach. It _should_ be a nightmare with all that’s happened with Slade now. With all that happened after that time had passed on the island. The freighter.

It’s not though. It’s not even really a dream, it’s a memory. One of many from that short, calm time after Fyers’ men’s defeat, that Oliver has stored up in his head. Those handful of precious ‘good’ times on the island. Times that seem impossible to reconcile with what became of them, the pain of Shado’s death, the agony of Slade and Oliver’s dual betrayals.

The time before the freighter came and destroyed everything.

If Sara takes his trembling as confirmation of the nightmare, reads it as an adrenaline crash, or fear, well, all the better. That’s a much simpler and easier explanation than the complicated truth. The complex feelings of grief and despair, shame and desire, when he’s reminded of their peaceful moments on the island before everything fell apart. 

There’s no handbook on what to do with all these conflicting memories. Oliver can’t forget them, not when they still feel precious, with Shado being there. Slade and Shado both imparting the skills that Oliver has used to survive ever since. Those few months holding what little good came from that time in his life.

Not when, for that brief moment, the three of them had been their own little makeshift family.


End file.
